


H.S.

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Friendship at first sight, Gen, it should be, why isnt that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is Damien's story, he's tired of everything and just wants to go home.





	H.S.

As every other evening in the middle of the month on july, out in the streets going towards the entrance of the subway, that one with the purple highlights, the cold breeze is humid giving everyone outside a slight shine on their skin and their breaths forming clouds of vapor similar to those made by the exhale of a good cigarette. 

People die of hypothermia like this, he thinks as his footsteps lead him to the staircase at the opening of the station. Every step gives a sound of a thousand metal clad feet on wood; curious, since the staircase is made of cement and the people going down or up can be counted with the fingers of one hand. Shivering, he pushes up the white sweater sleeve of his gloved left hand to uncover it for easier movement. The hand goes to one of the outside pockets of the black bag that rests on the left hip, leash crossed over his chest, and takes out the school pass to hold it until he reaches the gates where the pass is finally pressed against the sensor and the clear mechanic door lets him in. 

The cold isn't as bothersome inside the underground walls of the station and he’s sure it will get warmer once he sees the train railway so he takes gloves and beanie off and puts them inside the waiting bag that was zipped open seconds before he hopped off the mechanic stairs. The scarf only gets untied and rests on his shoulders leaving his neck uncovered and the school pass regains its place inside the bag. His glasses are sliding down his nose so he pushes them up in place. In the right pocket of his pants are the earphones that he, once he’s going down the last flight of stairs to the space where people wait for the train, puts on his ears and plugs on the phone, it still in the backside pocket of the blue jeans. The screens tell that the train will be there in three minutes and there is only five other people waiting for it, two businessmen in suits that look more expensive and warmer than the sweater he’s wearing and three girls that, guided by their laughs and excited, fast speaking, are there together and going to a club nearby the next station. 

He thinks of clubs and how he wants to get invited to one only to reject the offer because he hates clubs. The idea of getting invited to one is appealing, having someone wanting to spend more and, by their standards, funnier time with him someplace else would be nice once in a while, but he can't stand flashing lights or crowds (drunk crowds) or music past a certain decibel and certainly not all of that together. And imagining the face of whoever would invite him get rejected is reason enough to be grateful no one has bothered to invite him anywhere with those characteristics yet. 

The screens say two minutes now and he figures he didn't plug the earphones for nothing and grabs his phone from the back pocket of the pants. The lights on the station are too bright and the phone screen looks almost black even when unlocked, by muscle memory he slides his thumb on the screen and manages to brighten it enough so it can be seen under the lights of the place and not strain his eyes. A few more slides and the familiar ding of an ongoing call makes him put the cell phone in front of his face, microphone towards his mouth. The ringing stops and in its place the voice of a robotic lady informs him that his mother has her own cell phone either turned off or out of service. He sighs, feeling defeated. It is not the first time this happens, his mother not answering the phone for any reason is a normal occurrence. Waiting for his mother to take the phone, see the lost call and call him back will take a while, he is already more tired than usual because of this, and so he settles for music. 

One minute, appears in the screens of the station. He opens the music app and it offers him songs he has already listened to the same day in the morning trip to university, he taps on a different one he knows will calm his nerves, the ones that got disturbed by not being able to communicate to his mother that he was coming home and was going to get there in a few hours. 

The sound of the electric guitars make his eardrums vibrate and the drumset pounds give his hands the rhythm they need to tap against his legs. The train finally arrives, he notes that two more people had walked to take the subway, a probably recently engaged couple judging by the obvious silver ring with a gigantic black pearl on her left hand and the smitten smiles they show to each other with infatuated eyes. He lets the couple in first then he takes one of the seats, impressed that apart of the eight people that were waiting the subway there is only about six more people seated already. An elderly woman with hair whiter than snow and horrible fashion choices sitting by herself at the end of the row with two plastic bags and a red purse, a teenager dressed in all black and bangs longer than necessary, also black, with black headphones and eyes stuck to the phone, sitting on the floor for some reason. A family of four, all platinum blond and speaking a language he doesn't recognise, parents sitting on one row and the two boys, twins, he notes, sitting on the one across them playing on a shared console. None of them got out. The seat he chooses inside is placed on the wall of the door, the first one of the row, coloured in white unlike the others, coloured in red. His wagon is empty besides himself, the couple is kissing in the wagon to his left, the girls are giggling while looking at their cellphones on the next wagon, the two businessmen are talking in quiet intervals. 

Maybe of, you know, business, he thinks, but he lets himself imagine, almost by accident, like those times when one doesn't want to think of anything but the mind has other plans. And he forms a scenario on his head, in it the men are cops, detectives, and they’re going to see a crime scene…. No, that doesn't make sense, he reasons, they would have gone by car. They, instead, are lawyers and one of them doesn't have a car yet so the other, being a good friend, accompanies him to his home, but he has ulterior motives, he’s a serial killer. And he’s going to make the murder look so out of place that he will make someone else look guilty and he will be their lawyer and will do his work so well (because the client is, in truth, not guilty) that he will get better pay. He laughs, and decides that that’s a good story, he might have to write it someday. He ups the volume of the tiny ear speakers and the song has changed, his stop still a minute away. 

The song that now plays is louder and the lyrics are so rushed that they’re barely recognisable for anyone that hasn't heard the song before but he has searched the internet for them, he knows them from memory and he sings to himself, not worried that he might look weird moving his mouth with no sound coming out, the rest of the people are, after all, at least one wagon of distance away from him. 

The chorus sounds and the train comes to a stop, the lady on the speakers tells them to take all their belongings and leave, this is the last stop. 

He attempts to call his mother again, this time the robotic lady tells him clearly that the woman’s phone is out of service. 

He is tired, his back muscles ache in a way similar to how it would feel to be holding a thousand pounds on his shoulders and he’s sure the bones on his chest have moved to such weird positions that they don't look like a ribcage anymore. He wants to get home right this instant and feels how his eyes burn with the salt of unshed tears but he has no intention of crying while walking through the passage to take the connecting subway at the other side of the station so he holds them in. 

He changes the song playing on his earphones, a movie soundtrack disguised as classical piano music, a piece he likes for the particularity of it making people who want to seem intellectual and wise look like ignorant entitled idiots that can’t recognise actual classical music. Not that he can do that, but he admits that he doesn’t know and never lies about his knowledge on any subject unless he is being sarcastic. 

There is a girl laying on the wall of the station, talking on the phone, beside the staircase leading to the other line, the red one.

Everyone is trying to avoid looking at her and failing, if she notices she doesn’t show signs of caring, too busy of what is going on in the other side of her phone line. 

She is pale as a sheet of paper, he would think it was the makeup but her hands, holding the phone, are as white as her face. She has dyed wavy purple hair styled in long fringe bangs and the blue roots look recent, her clothes consist of a short two layer black and purple dress with long sleeves imitating the 19th century two shades darker than her hair, shoulders covered with a frilly purple cape not long enough to cover anything beyond her elbows, held closed with the help of an enormous black bow. Her legs show thigh high black translucent socks with purple flowers all along them and her black leather shoes have platform heels and little lace bows on the front. He stops to stare at her for a bit, her eyes haven’t reached his focused face yet, she’s looking at the floor letting him see her long black eyelashes as he approaches the stairs, and hence, her. 

She doesn’t look happy talking on the phone, if the frown on her pretty face is any indication. She has a hand purse, he sees now, it is made of black leather and the silver chain goes over her right shoulder, under the cape. She ends the call and blinks fast trying to hold back her tears just like he was doing earlier and fans her face with her right hand and looking up, attempting to keep her makeup in place. 

She bites her red painted lips and closes her eyes and he wants to step in and ask her what’s wrong but he knows he has to wait for her to stop crying first. She still hasn’t noticed him staring and the rest of the people have already disappeared up the stairs. His hands go to his phone, eyes following, and he slides his thumb to change the song once again. When he looks up the girl’s face is still contorted in pain and she’s closing her purse, phone inside but she’s doesn’t look in the verge of tears anymore. 

He thinks, why not, and takes one earbud out to walk to her. He stops in front of her, who hasn’t moved from her spot on the wall, she looks up and they stare at each other for what seems like a minute. The distance between them is not close but it can’t be described as far either. Her brown eyes are warm and smooth like ground coffee, shiny from the tears, and look up at him with a question, one of her black eyebrows is raised. She opens her mouth and he beats her to making a sound but he stutters and fails to form a coherent word. He shuts up, lips tight and looks to the side rolling his eyes at himself. Makes an attempt to leave, wanting to get away while looking like a creep but stops and freezes when he hears a quiet chuckle. His eyes are open and surprised as he looks down to hers once more and she’s sporting a shy smile, her hands are holding her purse. 

“It’s late” she says almost murmuring. 

“I have time” he answers her in a broken whisper. 

He looks to the other side this time and clears his throat before holding out his right hand towards her. 

“Damien” 

“Alice” she puts her hand on his delicately, amused, where he gives a soft squeeze and bows down to kiss the air of her knuckles and smiles. 

“It fits” he tells her before regaining his previous posture and fixing his glasses. 

She giggles and retracts her hand slowly, returning it to its place on her black purse. Then she looks to the side hesitant and he follows her gaze, worried. 

“It is nothing, just….” she vagues. Her lips form a pout. 

“You don’t have to tell me about what made you look so troubled, but I will have to ask one thing.” he holds a finger in the air and waits for Alice to give him the permission to continue. She nods once. “I can’t help but wonder, where do you get your colour done?” he signs to his own hair “I can’t seem to find anyone else with such a gorgeous job done and excuse me for being curious”. 

She smiles, glad and proud to answer 

“I do it myself, I’m a hairstylist”. 

He looks shocked for a second and proceeds to smile, impressed of that revelation. 

“May I ask how old the lady is?” he raises an eyebrow, playful. She humors him.

“I was hoping the lovely gentleman would figure that out on his own” and her voice sounds like eating a little chocolate bonbon filled with black cherries in fine cognac. He doesn’t let this thought suck the air out of his lungs like it wants to do and answers, keeping the game up. 

“Such a beautiful face makes it difficult for one to guess correctly, I must admit, but I must also try, seeing what my lady wants”. 

She lets a smile show her teeth. 

“Tell then, my handsome knight, what you think it is” 

He blushes and takes the other earbud out of his ear, hoping he didn’t look too dumb talking with the thing still blasting music at a higher than healthy volume. He puts his hand on his chin, looks up and taps his lips with his pointer finger. He doesn’t want the game to end but he has ran out of ideas and making Alice think he is one of the classical music people he was laughing about when he was walking is not something he fancies. 

“I don't know, princess” he still flirts “you got me”. 

Her smile turns warmer and her hand points at him 

“You first” she says, inviting. He sees no point on going around the bush anymore so he answers the truth. “You're younger than me” she tells, the hand pointing at him is now covering her amazed open mouth. 

His phone starts blasting his ringtone at full volume, a silly song he chose to make a joke and forgot to change, and he sweats and grimaces rubbing the back of his neck. The music keeps blaring but he hasn’t moved from his position and his hand is still rubbing his nape. 

“I think you should answer that” she offers, narrowing her eyes 

“Y-yeah, you’re right” he mutters and takes his phone while turning around and giving his back to Alice. 

With a shaky hand he takes one earbud and puts it in, with the other he puts the phone near his mouth, microphone right next to his lips. He taps the screen once to answer the call. 

“Where are you, little shit” exclaims the voice of his older sister, he jumps startled. 

His voice breaks when he says “I-I was…” He clears his throat and tries again “I’m in the subway, sister” he sends a little glance in Alice’s direction, the girl is doing weird movements with her mouth trying to whistle, her body is rocking back and forth and her hands are behind her back. 

He frowns confused but keeps listening. “Why are you still in the subway, you should have been in the bus about an hour ago” 

“dude, my classes ended at eight thirty, it is only…” He looks at the top corner of the phone screen. “nine five” he finishes. 

A new set of people have gotten there from the train, a big woman with a baby in green blankets in her arms and a short man with black rimmed glasses who seems to be her husband. They get in the mechanical stairs on the left and disappear. 

“Why are you so eager for me to be home, weren’t you going to have a date with your boyfriend or something?” the sound of metal clashing on metal reaches his ears from the other side of the line, his sister must be cooking 

“that’s exactly why, our parents aren’t home and if you’re not here at about the time he gets here you won’t be getting inside the house because nobody is going to go out to get you” he lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes before continuing to end the conversation. 

“Alright, I’m going, but have in mind that it is more than an hour until i get there” 

“just hurry, asshole” 

“bitch” the line goes dead and he turns around looking for Alice, who looks at him with big eyes, pouty lips and a raised eyebrow, hands still behind her back. 

He takes the earphones out again and shoves the phone in the back pocket of his pants, the white sound cables are now behind his neck. 

“Your sister sounds nice” Alice is slowly nodding her head, biting her lips and looking up like she’s trying to remember something 

“she’s really not”. He grimaces and she giggles. 

“I think we should get going” she reasons. 

“Where do you have to go?” he points to both mechanical stairs one after the other, his finger going from right to left, then it stays on the right one. “I have eleven stations and then walking to take the bus” 

She looks more tired than him with this new information and replies “that is so far away, now that.... I had something canceled….” she doesn’t let out more than that about her situation but she looks down, the sting from whatever happened still hurting her “I am just going to go home” she points to the left stairs “I have two stations to the other side of you. I think this is where we part ways” she smiles, sad. 

“Well, we don’t have to part forever.” he says taking his phone out and sliding across the screen a few times. He lends her the phone “give me your number, I plan to invite you coffee, or tea if you prefer, some of these days so there” he smiles at her and she takes the phone and writes her number before returning it to the owner. 

“You can save it just as Alice, supposing you don’t have another Alice in there”. 

He scoffs “in fact I do, I don’t have her saved as Alice, though.” After noticing her amazed expression he specifies “my sister’s name is Alice, I saved her as ‘older sister’ instead” he shrugs and writes her name in the contact to save it. “Now we have to go.” 

He looks down, reluctant to go just yet. Then he looks to the mechanical stairs on the right, hopeful, wishing for something else, even a little thing, to happen that would make them spend a bit more of time together. She looks as reluctant to go as him, her gaze moving from side to side, up and down, thinking, hoping. He decides to approach her closer and take both her hands on his own, she looks up at him with wide eyes and they stare at each other for a couple more minutes before she takes the initiative and stands in the tip of her toes to place a delicate kiss on his cheek, the contact of her lips is soft like a feather falling beside him and accidentally touching the side of his face where her slightly open mouth has marked the place with lipstick traces so faint it may as well be part of the blush now covering his face. 

He laughs softly and lets go of her hands, she retrocedes a few steps and disappears from his sight leaving him there, like the statue of a man that has been blessed with cupid’s arrow and had the misfortune to be looking at a mirror the time it happened and the mirror is still in front of him, and he can’t take his eyes off of it, and his heart grew five sizes and his lungs are full of air, and his back is curving forward and…. he’s falling. 

He catches himself in time, one foot steps forward and prevents him from hitting the floor. He shakes his head and starts walking in the direction he has to go, towards the other train. 

The train is there with open doors when he gets there. There are a few people sitting, he has a feeling it will fill up as they get closer to the bus station. He enters the closest wagon, the fourth from left to right. He takes the seat next to a man with long dark brown hair and a beard of about a year, a black graphic shirt and blue jeans. The man has headphones around his neck and the music, a song Damien recognises, is loud. The man is using the headphones as speakers. Damien puts his own earbuds in and taps play, loud songs so he doesn’t fall asleep and misses his stop. 

He was right, in theory, the wagons are filling up by the minute, he doesn't know where all these people will get off but he hopes it won't be on his stop, which would mean waiting to take the bus longer than necessary and delaying the arrival to his house. 

The time spent with Alice still amazes him, finding a person like that would leave anyone in awe and he can’t help but want the time to run faster until the day of their still not specified date comes. He feels an urge to text her right there, on one hand he wants to keep talking, getting to know her better, on the other he feels that the girl prefers talking in person. So he only opens the texting app to send a quick ‘It’s Damien, you can save me as whatever you’d like’ and then he locks the phone sighing and looking up, pleading to whoever is listening to give him mercy. 

His station isn’t that far now but he wants to be there right now, needs to be there right now, if not he feels he might die in that train and people will think he fell asleep and will leave him there until he reaches the last station and then the guards at that last station will come inside the train to wake him up so he gets out but he wont wake up because he will be dead and the guards will try to find his pulse and they won't find it because he won’t have a pulse because he died from exhaustion and pure frustration and they will get him out of the train themselves and call it a homicide until his body reaches the morgue and he gets an autopsy that will indicate that he died from dehydration, anger and tiredness and his wallet will be open -the people examining his body most likely will take all the cash in there and share it among themselves- to find out his name and all his secrets, they will call his parents and they will either be devastated or relieved, he doesn't know, hasn't cared for years. 

And his stop is here, he has to get out and walk to take the bus. He changes the song again when he gets off the train and opens a blogging app for momentary distraction as he makes his way to the stairs. The computer bag is heavier now that he’s standing and he assesses how long the walk to the bus stop is going to take him knowing he will have to wait in line for about an hour until he can get inside the vehicle. 

His back is killing him, he thinks, he will need a massage as soon as possible. And his hair is getting longer, he notes when a strand gets loose and falls on front of his eyes, a trim wouldn’t be unwelcome. 

He locks the phone and puts it in the pocket of his hoodie to keep himself from tripping and falling down the stairs for being too engrossed on the screen and not noticing the stairs have ended and that he shouldn’t search with his foot for the next step because it doesn’t exist. 

He takes the scarf falling from both shoulders and wraps it around his neck, taking the earbuds out and in again once the scarf is covering his throat, the beanie finds its place on his head again and he prepares himself for the cold air outside the subway station, just seven minutes approximately until he reaches the his bus stop.

The last flight of stairs before he gets out of the warmth of the place make him anxious, as always; sitting on the corner of the start of the flight is a tanned man with more wrinkles than a raisin wearing a leather jacket and a red hat, he has no shoes on, just very thick looking socks and thick wool gloves covering his hands holding a small tube of chips, empty of any food but getting slowly filled with coins. The man shakes the tube every now and then making the coins inside give a loud plea for more. Damien rubs his hands together and blows on the cold fingers, doing his best to ignore the man and walk to the opposite side of where he is sitting to go up the stairs and get out of there as fast as he can. 

He’s sure he has missed two buses by now, his stomach growls and he gets a lollipop from inside the computer bag. The sugar won’t do much more than up his chances of developing diabetes but it will trick his stomach into thinking he has eaten something. 

Walking to the inside of the mall slash bus station he opens the lollipop carefully and searches with his eyes for a trash can where he can throw the wrapper away. About thirty seven steps inside and one rounded corner later he finds a dumpster in the middle of the way, a big black haired woman in black sport pants and a blue long sleeved shirt with the mall slash bus station’s logo on the left side of her chest is changing the trash bag on the inside of the container. He gets closer to the place and stands awkwardly half a meter away from the still empty of trash bag container and debates whether he should throw the wrapper in the bag that the woman has in her hands or wait ‘till she puts the new bag on and throw the wrapper then. He is so deep inside his own thoughts and his eyes are so focused on looking at the pink lollipop wrapper in his raised hand that the woman has to call him three times for him to hear what she was saying. 

“Are you going to throw that wrapper away or are you going to keep it, boy?” he hears and elevates his view to see the woman pushing the open bag full of trash to him, waiting for his decision. 

He feels his chest get hot and his cheeks burn. He says a simple thank you and puts the pink plastic carefully inside the bag before turning around and fleeing from there in the direction of the buses that are waiting -not really- for him to get inside one of them and go home. 

The loud music blasting through the earphones a while before has led to a different, mathematical, piano melody. He doesn’t bother to change it, he wants to go home, so he walks faster, not enough to be considered running but his steps are longer and he covers more ground with each of them. To his right there are electronic stores, to his left the stores are of clothing or jewelry, but only this hallway, the next hallway, that he reaches after turning left around a corner, has a stationery store that sells panda pens and flower erasers in between several other cutesy office tools to the right of him and to the left there is a shoe store. 

In the middle of the way, just like the trash can earlier, there is an ice-cream cart. He debates buying a cone of ice-cream with himself, on one hand he still has to finish the lollipop, on the other the ice-cream looks really nice and smooth and the vanilla flavour is yellow like a newborn chick and he’s sure it will melt in his tongue in seconds and leave the most intense of flavours for him to enjoy. Vanilla is his favourite flavour, after all. His debating doesn’t last long but when he decides he wants the ice-cream he has already walked past the cart, he regrets not stopping to stare at the flavour board while he decided. He  _ is _ late and, in hindsight, his lactose intolerant stomach wouldn’t have liked having the milk based dessert inside to try and fail to digest it so he keeps walking and ignores the craving. 

He walks past the artisan stands, a long row of wooden tables and fabric walls separating the products from stand owner to stand owner. One of them holds a board full of different types of piercings, plastic, metal, wood and bone, those at the top may be made of stone but he isn’t sure and despite wanting a new addition to the collection of holes on his flesh the fatigue is taking its toll on his body and head, to be specific, his brain, more specific, the parts of his brain responsible for taking decisions and providing determination to fulfil such decisions. The thought lasts a short period of time and, not unlike earlier with the ice-cream, his feet are working on automatic and they don’t want to stop their walking until they get to the bus stop. 

The final mechanic stairs leading to the buses are full and he groans so loud he’s sure the guys at the doughnut cart next to the stairs can hear him, though he doesn’t turn around to look at their startled faces unconsciously searching for the source of the sudden sound. 

He gets on the stairs and searches inside some pockets for the three coins that will grant him a seat in the bus and the student pass that will give him a discount on the seat. And when he finally gets to the floor, coins and pass in hand, he sighs more tired than before just because the line to get to the bus is so long it seems like it never ends or even reaches the bus. He has to ask the people at the end of each row for the correct vehicle, he doesn’t want to wait in line for thirty minutes only to find out that it was the incorrect one. 

For some reason everyone looks angry, the responses with the name of the incorrect buses are tossed at his face, one man even spitting on it. It feels like a coincidence when the actual line he has to make has an old rounded cheeks woman at the end with short white hair in a bob and animal print high heels and she answers with a smile that lights her dark skin that yes, this is the line. And he wants to sit with her and her grandma vibes. But that would be embarrassing so he knows he won't. 

He runs his eyes to the others on the line and most of them don't look nearly as gentle as the old woman; his gaze stops when he spots waist long dark brown hair and a curly beard. Yes. Perfect seat companion. He hopes the man won't choose to sit with someone else so Damien can take the place next to him but if he does Damien will have to accept his fate of sitting next to a stinky businessman with a frown on his face and a worn out leather briefcase, if there actually is one, which he doesn't know because he just made that up in his head and he has no intention to keep looking at the line to find out. He has a slight fear of what he might see so he just twirls the lollipop in his mouth and takes it out and back in repeatedly while he takes some steps forward every ten minutes when the people in front move out of the line and into the new bus. He watches five different buses get filled and when the sixth takes place in front of the line he feels happy tears well in his eyes when he sees that it will finally be his turn to get in. He blinks them away and takes the pass and the coins he had put inside his front left pocket earlier and holds them until it is his turn. 

Once seated next to the long haired man with the bag on his lap he lets himself relax and he closes his eyes waiting for the bus to fill up and leave. 


End file.
